


Dear.....

by bearmitage



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-26 23:43:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9932465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearmitage/pseuds/bearmitage
Summary: Dear Lord, I shall not pretend to have much credit with you.I’m not even sure if you exist. But if you do, and if I’ve ever done anything good,I beg you to keep him safe





	

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by FBWeekly prompt: wish  
> Spoiler Alert: Major character death

**The letter arrives at their house at the beginning of winter in1943, Newt was cooking when Percival returns from his work. He hangs his outer coat on the hanger neatly, holding one envelope in his hand.**

 

They both know what it means.

 

**_The urgent conscript, Percival Graves is going to the war._ **

**_He’s leaving tomorrow morning._ **

 

They are aware of it, undoubtedly. After applying for a position in the army and having a medical check, Percival continues working as an inspector and even look forward to joining the army, protecting his beloved country and, the most important of all, his beloved one; Newt.

 

Although he wants to serve his country and strongly believe that it’s what he should do, Percival was worried whether leaving home will leave no one to look after Newt, to accompany him, his significant other, who is working in the local hospital, gives him a courage, saying that there is nothing to worry about.

 

Even it’s too selfish, Newt quietly wishes that, maybe, Percival will not be summoned.

 

They spend their night together, having dinner, drinking wine, dancing to I Don’t Know Why by Nat King Cole, their favourite song, and pretending that nothing will change tomorrow.

 

Newt places his head on Percival’s broad chest when the last part of the song nearly finishes, his hand slides from the other man’s shoulder and then wraps around his waist tightly. He wants to hold his man like this, emerging and absorbing everything of him.

 

He is so scared.

Newt Scamander is so scared.  
  
  
  
  


The night is quiet. There are only the sounds of the clock ticking and their breathing inhaled and exhaled. It’s so quiet that Newt is afraid whether Percival is going to hear his silent cry. He holds Percival’s big hand to his heart, is not able to see his face because he knows he is going to tear up whenever he thinks that it might be their last night.

 

Newt waves away that thought and realises that they don’t have much time now, placing his kiss on the back of Percival’s hand before turning to the man he holds most dear, touching his thick eyebrows, temple, jaw and his lips slowly. Percival opens his eyes slowly, adoringly looks into the exquisite green eyes of Newt.

 

Nothing is interchanged between two of them.

 

They only hold each other and gather every precious second they are having together.

 

Until the night ends.  
  
  
  
  


Newt is walking to the tea shop after coming back from the hospital when he hears someone calling his name.

 

“Mister Scamander! Mister Scamander!”

 

It’s Credence Barebone, the young postman in his village. The boy lunches to him by cycling and slows down in order to stop. Credence takes off his hat to say hello. “Good day to you, Mister Scamander.”

 

“Good day, Credence, been busy lately, eh?” He asks the boy who is busy searching stuff in his bag.

 

“Quite so, Mister Scamander. Twice times busier during this period” Credence agrees. He exhales a sigh of relief when he finds what he’s looking for. “Here you are, you cheeky little thing!”

 

The letter from Percival

 

Newt hurriedly says thank you and bid him a goodbye.

  


_May 6, 1944_

 

_Dearest Darling_

 

_All day I have been fighting the feeling which has been dominating me lately. I keep continually thinking of home and longing for home in the very indecent way. All your letters of how quiet and peaceful of the afternoon spring in our garden. The picture of you smiling in the dim sunlight and I helping you taking care of our animals are haunting. The realisation that I am missing all these months and years of you is actually gnawing at my heart. . . ._

 

_I love you, my precious Artemis._

 

_Your Percy_

 

Although Percival is not here with him in this present, he’s certainly grateful for this.

  
  
  
  


 

The next letter comes three days later. This time Credence is in front of his barn, taking his bicycle with him. Newt is showering Joey, Percival’s favourite horse. “Mister Scamander, are you there?”

 

“Precisely, is there anything I can do for you?” Newt walks toward the boy, glancing at the envelope in his hand. “I presume that the letter belongs to me, doesn’t it?”

 

“You presume right.” Credence nods, holding the letter in the air while Newt’s drying his hands with a tiny towel before handing it to the redhead man. “There you go, Mister Scamander.”

 

“Thank you, Credence. Good day to you.” Newt holds the letter before returning to the barn, he sits next to Joey. “Your papa writes again, I think you want to hear it as well, don’t you?”

 

_May 9, 1944_

 

_Dearest Artemis_

 

_The invasion is a topic of constant speculation among the people over there and I guess you are worried. Well, my dear, don’t worry, please. It is possible I may be a member in the assault but no more possible than that I may someday die. It is God’s will darling, to which we must all bow, and His will be done is a daily admonition we make. I don’t hold with the ‘theory of the inevitable’ Sunday school and so you may be sure that I won’t invite disaster to my battalion in any form. In the class, we had an old lad to used to participate in horse-racing competition qualifying his pre-game prayers with the phrase, “Not my will God, but Thine” and so it is my dear and so it must always be — we must trust our God unflinchingly, unquestioningly. But enough of this heavy stuff . . . time’s up._

 

_Your Percy_

 

Certainly, Newt can see that he will write about the horse somehow.

 

  


 

It has been ten days and there is no letter from Percival.

 

It has been eight months that he has not seen the face of the man he loves most.

 

He silently sighs. The sound of it echoes in the living room. Newt stops writing, finishing his last word, placing the pen on the wooden table and carefully reading through each letter he wrote on the paper.

 

_May 19, 1944_

 

_Dear my Percy_

 

_Theseus sent a handful of fellows today to fix up our yard and barn and they really did a grand job — both the yard and barn now look wonderful. There is so much shrubbery here and so many with plants all around that I can never find enough time to keep it looking as it should look since I am also caught up in the hospital, the injured soldiers keep coming and we hardly have places for them. All the spring flowers are beginning to bloom now and the sight of them just increases my longing for you. . . . Sometimes I sympathise with myself by counting up the months since I’ve seen you — and because they are too many — nearly eight now — I feel very, very sorry for myself. . . . Really, Percy, I try not to feel sorry — there are many who are much worse off than I — you are the one who is, in fact, now undergoing all the hardships — I have Tina and Queenie who keep me busy saying that they need my help every time just to keep me away from thinking of you, Credence who delivers your letter and Jacob who keeps baking our favourite bun every morning and invites us for a tea every evening. Without them, I don’t see how I would endure this separation. Yet constantly, darling, all of me longs for you. It can’t be much longer now, sweetheart._

 

_I love you, Artemis._

 

Newt is sitting next to the comfy chair Percival used to sit in their living room. The picture of his man is held in his hand. He’s patiently waiting, knowing that he should not cause any concern to his loved one. Hanging his life between death and life in the front line is stressful enough for Percival.

 

For one moment, Newt thinks about praying.

 

He needs to admit here that he himself is not a religious man, unlike Percival anyhow. After ‘the will of God’ has taken his man to the army, Newt rarely prays.

 

_“Dear Lord, I shall not pretend to have much credit with you. I’m not even sure if you exist. But if you do, and if I’ve ever done anything good, I wish….I beg you to keep him safe.”_

  


He hardly can bring himself to finish his prayer with ‘Amen’ since the tears blur his eyes that he cannot even see the picture of Percival in his hands.

  
  
  
  


This time the letter is in his postbox since no one’s home when Credence’s here. There were plenty to do in the hospital lately, the number of injured soldiers is rapidly increasing and it makes Newt wonder whether Percival is one of them.

 

He knows it’s not good at all to think of such thing like that in order to depress himself, Percival would not be pleased if he knew about this.

 

He slowly sinks himself down in the chair before opening the envelope.

  


_May 27, 1944_

 

_Dear Artemis_

 

_Darn it, darling, I would certainly like to be there to help those chaps fix our yard and barn. Sit on Joey and follow you sitting on Daisy while we are riding to the farm with a basket of sandwiches and champagne. Enjoy the sunlight in the valley with you letting me place my head on your lap. These are things I am longing every moment, whenever I hear the firing sound, whenever one of my lads is playing accordion with English cigarette in his mouth. German cigarette is awful, I’m telling you, my dear. It would be lovely, so lovely to be with you in this spring. It certainly would be..._

 

_Your Percy_

 

Yes, Percival is right. It would be so lovely to be together again.

  
  
  
  


Nothing cheers Newt up more than Credence standing in front of his door.

 

Young boy knocks the door for the second time when Newt stops busying himself with the kettle and hastily runs from a kitchen to open the front door. “Good evening, Mister Scamander.”

 

“Good evening, Credence.” He greets the postman with a smile, expectedly waits for the thing he has been longing for. Credence smiles lightly as the kettle starts making a sound. “Would you like to come inside? The tea is almost ready.”

 

“That would be lovely for a long day like this, thank you.” Credence takes off his hat before leaning his bike against the wall and stepping in. “You do have a lovely house.” He says while glancing around the inside of Newt’s house.

 

“Thank you.” Newt’s voice is from the kitchen. He emerges with one kettle, two cups and a plate of biscuits in his hands. Credence rushes to help him. “There you go. Be my guest.”

 

“Thank you again, Mister Scamander.” Credence puts one teaspoon of sugar and adds milk in his tea then takes the cuppa in his both hands. “How’s everything going in the hospital lately?”

 

“Well, busier than the last whole year in one week. In fact, we can no longer take any patient in our hospital. I plan to evacuate those who are getting better to recover in York, not sure whether there are enough rooms for them over there as well.” Newt says steadily yet sadly. He wants so badly for this war to end. He wants no more soldier to get hurt. He wants Percival to come home.

 

“How depressing. I just want it all to end.” The boy says before sipping the tea and eating the butter biscuit. His hand reaches into his bag. “Here, the thing you have been waiting for, Mister Scamander.” He hands him the familiar look envelope. Newt thanks him before grabbing it.

 

Not until Newt finishes his tea, Credence speaks in the unnaturally calm voice. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

 

“Oh?” Newt holds the empty cup in the air.

 

“I’m leaving tomorrow.” Credence repeats it. His eyes stare at the cup in his hand emptily. “They’re going to send me to France.”

 

No word is in his head to say to the boy in front of him. “Credence…...”

 

“Can you look after my family?” The young boy looks at him this time. “Modesty, my sister, she wants to be a nurse like Miss Tina and Miss Queenie Goldstein. And my mum,” Credence stops for a second. “She…..could you tell her to stop over-working when I’m gone, please?”

 

Newt only nods.

 

“So I won’t deliver Mister Graves’s letter again, will I?” The black hair boy chuckles bitterly like he is admitting his fate.

 

“Unfortunately, yes.” Newt states. “But I’m certainly sure you will be here to deliver lots of letters again very soon.”

 

_He lies._

_He doesn’t even know whether the boy is going to come back or not._

_He doesn’t even know whether it’s is going to end anytime soon._

_He doesn’t even know whether Percy will….._

 

“Until we meet again, Mister Scamander.”

 

This time is Credence who bids him a farewell.

 

There is no one left but him.

  


_June 1, 1944_

 

_Dear Artemis_

 

_This is a beautiful spring evening, darling. I am sitting on the top of the tank (and not even noticing the noise and the heat that almost burned my balls) from which place by merely lifting my head and looking into the sky. I can gaze upon a truly silvery, full moon. It’s beautiful, dear — really beautiful, and it has succeeded in making me very sentimental. I had begun to think that I was becoming immune to the moon’s enchantment — so often I have looked at it without you and to keep myself from going mad told myself “It’s pretty, yes — but, so what?” Because you’re not here with me. This is not the way it should be, darling. The sight of that shining moon up there — the moon that shines on you, too — fills me with romance —; and even though it’s just a dream now, it’s a promise of a glorious future with one I love more than life. The old moon keeps shining for us, darling — and even as it now increases that inescapable loneliness, it also increases my confidence in the future. I truly love you…._

 

_Your Percy_

 

He doesn't have any gut to write. He is so exhausted.

  
  
  
  


Newt sees the man in the military uniform walking the distance. He hurriedly leaves what he is currently doing on a Sunday afternoon and runs to the front door. His smile is so wide that he himself wonders if it can shatter his cheekbones.

 

**But he’s not Percy.**

 

**He is not Percival Graves.**

 

“Are you Doctor Newton Scamander?” The officer asks him in the southern accent. There is a fresh scar on his left cheek. It must be so painful.

 

Newt nods. Not certain what to do when the scarred officer hands him a military green metal box to him, there is an envelope he can recognise containing the yellow letter on the top of it.

 

The officer leaves with saluting and the door is closed behind him. Newt sits slowly in silence with the box in his hands. He stares at it for a long time before bringing himself to open it with his shaking hand.

 

There is To Autumn by John Keats.

 

There is the flower from their garden.

 

There is his handkerchief.

 

There is his picture.

 

There are his letters.

 

There is everything of him.

  


_June 6, 1944_

 

_My Dearest Percy_

 

_I feel I must write you again although there is not much news to tell you. I wonder how you are getting on. I shall be so relieved to get a letter from you. I can't help feeling a bit anxious Percival. I know how you must have felt darling when you did not get my letters for so long. Certainly, I know that you will write as soon as ever you can, but the time seems so dull and weary without any news if only this war was over and we were together again. It will be one day I suppose._

 

_Don't think I am worrying unnecessarily about you because you always say that God can take care of you wherever you are and if it's his will darling he will so are you to come back to me, I pray for you every night, Percy. I wonder how your fellows are getting on as well. Does your friend still play the accordion? It's been so long since the latest letter from you. I surely wish every single one of you is doing fine._

 

_How are your hands now Percy? Mine are very sore, so chapped, and my left hand has got several chilblains on it and they do irritate after a long day of working in the hospital. I could scratch it to bits. Have you been receiving To Autumn I have sent you to? I am very pleased to say that I am keeping very well indeed, and I trust you are the same. There is also the flower from our yard that we planted before the war, I give it to you so it might cure the nostalgia you've mentioned about._

 

_Remember Credence, the young postman you talked to about the horse and his bike once? He would like to talk with you again about Joey and his bike. The thing is he has been called and sent to France. I gave him my word to look after his family, and really Percy I never saw such a boy as he is. His deep concern towards his family earns my respect and I’m certain that after you and him returning from the war, we will invite him for a tea so you two can exchange the idea of your shared interest._

 

_I certainly hope that we will see each other again very soon so will close with fondest love and kisses._

 

 _Your Artemis_  
  
  
  
  


**On June 6, 1944, the bullet was fired and sent right through Percival’s heart. He was killed instantly.**

 

Percival's gone, where will he go?

 

_Percival Graves doesn’t have a chance to read this letter._

 

_He doesn’t have a chance to look at the ravishing moon with the love of his life._

 

_He doesn’t have a chance to return home._

  


**And Newt’s wish has never become true.**

**Author's Note:**

> This fiction is inspired by many mesmorising stories of the couples in World War 2, Thinking of You by Katy Perry and the quote by Mary Crawley from Downton Abbey. I hope you guys enjoy it, much love.  
> (And sorry everyone that I forgot to put the warning first when I uploaded it, I just edited it and will make sure that the mistake like this will never happen. (sounds like I'm going to kill the character again, who am I? John Green?))


End file.
